The Era of the Serpent
by Bleeding Heartgrenade
Summary: CHAPTER SEVEN IS UP! What is a nagini and why is she here? Harry Potter is about to find out. Sixth year, no HBP. Some Harry x Ginny pairing. My first fanfic ever. Please read and review!
1. Found

**Chapter One - Found**

Disclaimer: You know what belongs to the genius of J.K.Rowling. If you don't, why on earth are you reading Harry Potter Fanfiction?

This is my first Fanfiction ever! Please be nice.

Smoke. It unfurled, rising out of the mouth of a young boy, like a coiling serpent slithering from a cave, into the misty morning. Greasy dark hair hung limply from his head and he slouched against a lamppost, taking a drag from a half-dead cigarette. The boy's hazel eyes showed clearly the look of someone who had given up on life and just wished it to end.

The neighbourhood he lived in was a dank, miserable dump anyway.

Peeling paint hung limply from the grimy front doors of surrounding houses, which seemed large and misshapen in the heavy mist. Bags of trash and mounts of rubbish lay strewn on the ground. A collection of rotten garbage bags and bins lay on the far end of the square. The weak light from the filthy lamp above him flickered and died.

A crashing noise by the rotting garbage bins made the youth turn his head, breathing more fumes into the autumn air. And what he saw made his blood run cold.

A low, crawling shape had come slithering out of the wreckage of trash and dirt. At first he thought it was a woman, half naked and bloody, reaching out with pale hands. For a brief moment this was nothing special – there were many drunk and beaten up people wandering the streets.

But then he saw, with a jolt of horror, the glowing snake-like eyes and the forked tongue that flickered in and out of her mouth, which dripped blood. The cigarette fell from his cold fingers as he stared numbly, and scrambled backwards, his mind refusing to comprehend the images in front of his eyes.

The thing hissed, spraying blood from its mouth, and seemed to rise up off the ground, and, as it did, the boy's eyes fell below the creature's naked chest. For a fraction of a second, he stared. Then his mind seemed to jam. He did the only logical thing his frozen brain could think of. He screamed.

He screamed and he screamed. He was paralyzed, looking at something that might have come from a nightmare, and all he could do was scream. He was screaming so loudly, he didn't hear running footsteps through the mist, and a word that was shouted out.

"Oblivate!"

But then he knew warm, comforting, blissful ignorance. His voice died, and a blank, vague look came into his eyes. A hand touched his shoulder, and guided him gently away from where he had been standing.

"Go on, son." a voice said gently, "go on home."

This sounded good to the boy. Why had he been out there anyway? Home was better than out there. Home was a good place to be, right? Home had cigarettes. Where had his cigarette gone? Did it matter? He looked on the floor vaguely, but the hand on his shoulder pushed him away gently, and the gentle voice urged him to go home.

"'Kay," he mumbled hazily. The hand loosed its hold.

The boy turned and staggered away, through the early morning mist, only dimly aware of the sun sliding upwards, shedding a weak light upon the dingy houses of Grimmauld place.

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	2. Screaming and Crying

**Chapter Two - Tears, falling on my face again. Scream, they'll bring back the pain again**

Disclaimer: You know what belongs to the genius of J.K.Rowling. If you don't, why on earth are you reading Harry Potter Fanfiction?

Read and Review!

* * *

The rain splattered down upon the cars and houses of Privet Drive. Rivers of filthy, swirling water flowed into the drains and down the roads. The usually smooth green lawns were swamped and plastered with wet, thick mud. The curtains in the windows were closed, light shining through the gaps of embroidered material. The street lights were lit, casting amber slithers of light through the flood. The sky looked dark, perfectly miserable, as though the rain falling were grieving tears. 

All of the respectable residents of Privet Drive had retreated to the warm, cosy interiors of their homes.

All save one.

A dark figure of a teenage boy trudged down the road, hands shoved deeply in his pockets. The clothes he was wearing were soaked and muddy; he had walked through so many puddles, uncaring of the mud and mess, that his trousers were splattered with mud. He wore no raincoat or other water-proof clothing. The bare skin of his arms and face were numb and cold. His black hair dripped in the downpour.

He turned a corner into a long street, named Magnolia Crescent, the rain splattering onto his round glasses. The boy walked down Magnolia Crescent and stared at a spot just in front of a garage. A lump rose into his throat, and he turned away, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He hurriedly walked away, and turned into Magnolia road and strode towards the locked playground. Swinging his body over the gate, he wandered aimlessly over to the dripping swings.

Despite the council's efforts to repair the playground and the constant downpour, his cousin Dudley had managed to vandalise most of the swings, see-saws and roundabouts. He sat on the remaining swing and gently swung himself backwards and forwards with his feet. He took a wand out of his pocket and twirled it in his hands. He sighed and stuffed it back in his pocket. He leant back running his hand over his forehead, where there was a curiously-shaped cut, a scar like a bolt of lightning.

This teenager's name was Harry Potter, and he was a wizard. He had recently finished his fifth year at Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry. He had come back to his muggle relatives for the summer holidays, not that he wanted to. However, Professor Dumbledore had explained to him that while he was near his relatives that were related to his mother, he could not be touched by Voldemort.

* * *

Voldemort.

* * *

He was the one who had given Harry the lightning scar. He had killed Harry's parents and tried to kill Harry. But the fact that Harry's mother died to save him gave him a lasting protection. Voldemort had been vanquished and Harry made a hero. The Dursleys hated magic however. After eleven years of living with his horrid relatives, the half-giant Hagrid had rescued him from the Dursleys to start Hogwarts and learn about the wizarding world. 

Harry sighed. He wasn't happy. Far from it, he was bloody miserable. Last year he had lost one of his most cherished friends, a father figure and one of his dad's old mates. Sirius Black had been convicted of betraying Harry's parents to Voldemort, and murdering Peter Pettigrew, an old friend. In reality, it was Peter (Or wormtail as he was also known) who had betrayed his parents to their death. Peter was one of Voldemort's followers, called Death Eaters. Peter had betrayed all of them, Harry, his parents, and their friends, Remus Lupin (a werewolf!) and Sirius.

Harry sighed again, and shook his sodden hair out of his face. Last year, Voldemort had tricked him into believing Sirius was held captive at the ministry of magic. Harry had dashed to the ministry to save Sirius with five of his friends, only to walk into a trap. Sirius and the Aurors came to save Harry and the others, resulting in Sirius getting killed by the infamous Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry swung slowly backwards and forwards, his head lowered, staring at the ground. If he hadn't been so stupid as to fall for Voldemort's trick, Sirius might still be alive. Guilt ate away at Harry from the insides. He stood up, and wandered over to the rusty round-a-about, which was dripping with the rain that was splattering down upon the concrete ground. He sat down, and thought about the other matter which had been tearing away at his soul.

After Sirius's death, Dumbledore had told him about a prophecy that Voldemort had been trying to hear, ever since his rebirth.

The prophecy said that only a child born at the end of July could vanquish Voldemort, and that would have a power unknown to the Dark Lord and that in the end, one of them would have to kill the other. The prophecy might not have applied to Harry, but it also stated that Voldemort would mark the child 'as his equal'. This 'mark' was Harry's scar. The scar hurt him when Voldemort felt a strong emotion, and linked their minds. Harry had many dreams because of that scar on his head. Though recently, all his dreams had been of a fluttering black veil, draped from a stone arc.

A rustle in a nearby bush made Harry start, and stand up, his hand clenched around his wand in his pocket. A bird flew out of the bush, to perch on the bent and broken climbing frame. Harry sighed in relief. He needed to loosen up. He was jumping at every little thing.

_I don't need to worry, because **Dumbledore** is getting people to watch me, because I can't look after myself. _He thought bitterly.

Everyday, he was watched by Aurors. He never saw them but instead…sensed them. He knew their patterns, and when they changed shifts.

Dumbledore may understand how Harry felt about the prophecy, he may have an inkling about how Harry felt about Sirius, but he did not know what it was like to feel like a weapon, to have to be the one to kill Voldemort, to never have a moment's peace, to watch everyone die.

* * *

And he never knew how horrible the Dursleys treated Harry.

* * *

How Harry had curled up in his Cupboard, as young as three, sobbing himself to sleep, as he felt bruises and broken ribs. But Harry forced that out of his mind, and another depressing thought boiled to the surface.

* * *

Another reason Harry was miserable, was because it was the 31st of July – His Birthday. Though he had received cards and presents from his friends, Ron and Hermione, he had received no news of what was going on in the wizarding world, except that all this weather was due to dementors breeding, but he shouldn't worry. _Yeah, right._

He hated being watched, he hated not being told what was going on, and he hated being stuck here, with people who hated his guts.

A voice rang out, echoing around Magnolia Road, accompanied by yells and cheers. Harry didn't need to look up to see who it was, but he stood up anyway, receiving a deluge of water from the Heavens.

"Awesome left hooker, Big D!"

"Kick him! Go, D!"

"Way to go! Show that shrimp!"

Dudley's voice erupted from down the street:

"Take this!"

A yell of pain carried over to the playground. Harry vaulted over the metal gate and ran down the street to where the gang were standing. Dudley's friends were grouped around Dudley who was gripping a young boy by the hair and punching him.

"Hey!" Harry yelled furiously.

All of them turned around to see Harry standing there, his fists clenched. He was ready for a fight, to avenge his sorrow of Sirius' death on these boys. He was as big as them, and he was not as thin and weedy as he used to be. Beneath his soaking T-shirt, there were strong muscles.

Dudley stopped punching, which allowed Harry to see that the boy was Mark Evans, a boy who lived on this road, and was one of his cousin's favourite punch-bags. His face was bloodied and bruised, an altogether pitiful sight. He lay soaked to the bone in a deep, muddy puddle.

"What's the big idea?" Harry demanded, glaring furiously at the gang that had made his life hell.

Malcolm and the rest of the boys smirked from under their dripping anorak hoods. Dudley didn't look so sure; none of the Dursleys had forgotten the warning Moody, Lupin and the rest of Harry's friends had given them.

Dudley's friends stepped towards Harry, but as they did, a figure came around the corner at the end of the street, holding a pristine green umbrella and calling to them in a shrill, piercing voice.

"DINKY DIDDUMS! Come out of this rain at once!"

Dudley went scarlet. The boys turned and stared at him. It was Harry's turn to smirk. Dudley might pound him later, but watching Dudley getting humiliated in front of his friends was worth a thousand beatings.

"See you later." Dudley muttered, and jogged off towards his mother, who was calling, "Angel! Ickle Diddikins! Popkin!"

"You're coming in too!" She shrieked at Harry, who groaned, and trudged after Dudley through the torrent of icy water, throwing an apologetic look at Mark, who smiled painfully through his bruises. Though Harry was in no way to blame for Dudley's actions, he found it a certain responsibility to say sorry when Dudley attacked anyone.

He followed a fussing aunt Petunia and the skulking Dudley back through the downpour, back into Privet drive, and into number four, where aunt Petunia had lain out newspapers on the floor.

"Take off your shoes, and go into the living room – your uncle wants to…_talk_…to you." She snapped, glowering at him. Harry hastily removed his mud-caked sneakers, and moved to the living room door. He could hear a screeching sound and deep alarmed hoots. He pushed the door open, and uncle Vernon leapt at him, hands out stretched.

"**BOY!**"

Harry ducked under his uncle's porky fingers, and looked around. In a moment he had registered the fact that the porcelain figures on the mantelpiece were mashed, and curtains torn, and the chairs and sofa were leaking stuffing.

But all this was disregarded when he saw Hedwig, perched on a wooden table, a piece of string knotted around her leg, the other end tied to a table leg. She was trembling, wet and hooting dismally.

Harry turned, furious, to the purple-faced uncle Vernon.

"Why did you tie up Hedwig?" Harry started, but his voice was lost in the roar of uncle Vernon's.

"THAT RUDDY OWL CAME IN AND SHRIEKED AND HOOTED AND SMASHED UP THE PLACE! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD COME IN THE HOUSE, EH? IF YOU DON'T CONTROL THAT OWL, I'LL CHAIN IT UP AND KEEP IN THE CAGE, AND CHAIN THE CAGE UP! I DON'T WANT PEOPLE TO KNOW WE HAVE FREAKS LIKE **YOU** IN THE HOUSE!"

Harry stood there for a moment. Uncle Vernon wheezed like a winded rhinoceros. Aunt petunia had come in, her arm around a sullen Dudley. Then Harry exploded.

Every angry thought, every hated memory, every jealous moment, every desperate wish, came rolling out of Harry's heart as uncle Vernon met his wrath.

"YOU DON'T WANT FREAKS LIKE_ ME _IN **YOUR **HOUSE? LIKE I EVER WANTED TO EVER LIVE HERE! LIKE I EVER WANTED TO BE BEATEN TO A PULP EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE! LIKE I WANTED TO BE MOCKED AND HATED FOR BEING ME! LIKE I WANTED TO LIVE WITH A FAT, PITILESS, OPPRESSING BASTARD! LIKE I FANCIED LIVING WITH AN ANOREXIC, INTERFERING, MYSOPHOBIC BITCH! AND YOU THINK I NEVER WISHED A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEAD ON YOUR SPOILT BRAT OF A SON, YOUR OBESE, BULLYING, DRUGGED UP, BRAWLING BRAT!"

Silence screamed in their ears, as Harry breathed deeply. Vernon was agog, and aunt Petunia was pale. Dudley seemed to be trying to edge out of the room, unsuccessfully. Hedwig hooted and nudged Harry's arm with her shaking wing. Harry bent down, and tore the string knotted tightly around her limb. For the first time Harry noticed a hastily wrapped letter around her leg.

"Drugged up…" whispered aunt Petunia.

Harry turned to her. She was deathly white, and staring at Harry. Harry nodded. Uncle Vernon was quickly returning to his familiar puce shade.

"How…how **dare **you make such an insinuation!" he growled. Harry glared at him. Aunt Petunia had turned to see Dudley trying to get out of the room.

"Dudders! Come back in here-!"

She grabbed the edge of his jacket and tried to wrench him back. He gave a great heave, and the jacket tore. A packet of Carlton cigarettes, a penknife and a magazine fell to the floor in plain view of everyone. Harry was surprised that one look at the cover of the magazine didn't make her faint.

"Diddums?" murmured aunt Petunia faintly, looking at him.

Dudley glared her.

"So what if I took a puff? So what I read dirty magazines? At least I'm not some 'soft nancy boy', eh Dad?" He demanded rounding on his father. "Not that it matters since you lost me **_all my friends_**," he growled, turning back to his mother, his voice getting louder.

Harry, who knew what Dudley tantrums looked like, decided now would be the time to leave. However as he leave the room he felt a savage pleasant in seeing aunt Petunia, backed up against the wall, her hand over her mouth, and uncle Vernon, gawping at Dudley from the sofa, onto which he had collapsed, looking thunderstruck. It was most satisfying to see the one person who they had cared for and spoilt rotten, turn on them.

Harry walked up the newspaper laden stairs with Hedwig swaying precariously on his shoulder. He opened his bedroom door, and groaned. He had forgotten to leave his bedroom window, so Hedwig must have been forced to go into the house downstairs. He walked into the room and slammed the door.

"Sorry girl," he murmured, as she settled herself on the top of her cage. "What's wrong Hedwig?"

For Hedwig was still trembling in fear. He stroked her, and she hooted dismally, hiding her head under her wing.

Puzzled, he removed the letter, unfurled it and read the rushed note:

_Dear Harry_

_I know this is really short notice and all, but we need you desperately. _

_At Grimmauld place. _

_I'm sorry, I know you probably never want to see the house again, but it's urgent._

_See you tomorrow,_

_Yours, most sincerely_

_Remus Lupin_

How…could _anyone_ ask Harry to go back to Grimmauld place? Especially Remus. What kind of emergency could merit this? Harry closed his eyes, and threw himself onto the bed, as shouts echoed from the floor above.

He curled up, in his still soaking clothes, sobbing for Sirius, his bear hugs, his bark-like laugh, his happy grins. Harry cried until feverish nightmares came like a veil of darkness to drag him down, while rain hammered on the window, and The Dog Star danced in the Heavens above the orange glow cast by the street lights of Privet drive.

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	3. What's going on?

**Chapter Three**

Disclaimer: You know what belongs to the genius of J.K.Rowling. If you don't, why on earth are you reading Harry Potter Fanfiction?

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* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of the rain still hammering impatiently at the glass of his window. He rolled over and fell onto the floor, which was littered with books and crisp wrappers. The sky, which had been dark and thunderous, was now a weak grey colour that seemed to have misery stirring in the wind and clouds. The luminous clock face on his bedside table read 8:27am.

Groaning, he stretched, yawned and scavenged around in the mess of rank socks for a clean pair. When he found none, he compromised by shoving on an old, rancid yellow pair which smelt slightly better than the rest, and put them on.

He was still in his soaking clothes from yesterday, so he stripped them off, chucked them in his suitcase and took a crumpled black Green Day T-shirt out of the bottom of his wardrobe, a pair of black boxers with snitches on them from the top of Hedwig's cage, and a pair of torn and faded jeans from under his bed. He had brought them from the charity shop in the first week back from Hogwarts, because he was sick of wearing Dudley's old clothes.

Harry stood up and scrutinized the room critically. He had only been here two weeks and the room was already a tip. He noticed the note he had received last night, lying rumpled under his bedside table, picked it up and smoothed it out, and read again:

_Dear Harry_

_I know this is really short notice and all, but we need you desperately. _

_At Grimmauld place. _

_I'm sorry, I know you probably never want to see the house again, but it's urgent._

_See you tomorrow,_

_Yours, most sincerely_

_Remus Lupin_

Professor Lupin hadn't said when he was coming. Harry supposed he'd better pack his suitcase. He opened the luggage bag and stared chucking socks, boxers, robes, a sneakoscope, the Marauder's map and his books into the suitcase. Then he squashed the suitcase down by sitting on it, and locked it.

Harry went downstairs and entered the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was frying bacon at the hob, and Uncle Vernon was reading the paper. Dudley was sat at the table, not saying anything. There was a subdued, tense and strained silence, as though his aunt and uncle were trying to firmly maintain that their's was a happy, normal family.

Harry smirked inwardly as he sat down. The Dursley's always tried to be normal, no matter what. They always said that Harry was the one who would bring them down. Yet it was because of themselves that Dudley had gone on the not-so-normal route of drugs, violence and sleaze.

Aunt Petunia tipped bacon and sausages onto Dudley's plate in silence. Dudley acted as though she was not there, and ate his food mutely. Then Aunt Petunia tipped a few sausages on a plate, and handed it to Harry. Harry looked at her in surprise, but she did not look at him, and returned to the sink.

Harry sat eating at the kitchen table, in equal silence to the Dursleys. He watched the round blue clock on the white walls tick. 8:57…...8.58…...8:59…...9:00

Then there was a BANG! at the door.

Everyone jumped. Harry leapt up, knocking his chair over and sped to the front door, before any of the Dursley's could stir from there seats.

Harry flung open the door, to see his favourite DADA teacher, Professor Remus Lupin, standing on the front door step, wearing a long grey robe and hood, and dripping heavily. He had shadows under his eyes and his skin looked greyer than usual.

But a weak smile was forming on his face, as he looked down at Harry. Harry grinned at him. No matter how mad he was that no news had reached him over the fortnight he had been here, he was always glad to see Lupin. He, at least, knew how Harry felt. He had experienced the same pain Harry had – and worse.

"So Harry, are you going to keep me dripping on the doorstep?"

"Uh…" Harry jerked back to reality. "Sorry professor. Please come in."

He stepped back and Professor Lupin entered into the Dursley's house. The house seemed to shudder at the thought that somebody magical was entering it

"Thank you Harry." Professor Lupin said, as he shed his sodden robe. "And it is about time you started calling me Remus. I'm not your Professor anymore."

"Ok prof - I mean, Ok Remus."

Harry turned and saw Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley gaped at Remus from around the kitchen door. Remus smiled faintly, and waved in greeting. Uncle Vernon began to turn purple. Harry could tell he was going to start insulting Remus any second, so he intervened.

"Guys, this is Professor Lupin. He's come to take me away for the summer." He announced to his aunt, uncle and cousin. When nothing happened, apart from Uncle's face turning slightly more magenta, he added,

"He's a werewolf."

The reaction was instantaneous. The three Dursley's gulped, ducked their heads away from the gap and were heard scrambling away, under the kitchen table.

Harry turned to see Remus beaming at him. Harry grinned back.

"You'd have made James proud, if he'd heard you'd done that. Though I doubt if it was necessary?"

Harry chuckled. So did Remus.

"Come on, let's get your luggage. Have you packed?"

"Yeah, I didn't want to get caught out like last time." Harry said as they climbed the stairs, remembering how last time Remus and a horde of Order members had come, his room had been rather worse for wear.

"How come you came on your own this time?" Harry asked, as they stepped into Harry's bedroom. Remus sighed.

"It's a long story."

"Does it include why Hedwig's so terrified?" Harry enquired, moving over to the cage where Hedwig was still shaking in fear. Remus followed Harry, and stroked Hedwig's snowy feathers.

"Yes, it does, but right now we need to take a portkey to Grimmauld place."

Harry pulled on a jacket, grabbed Hedwig's cage, and Remus picked up the suitcase. He took a chipped wooden cup out of his pocket, laid it on the dresser and tapped it with his wand, and muttered, "_Portus_." He stowed his wand back in pocket.

"Ok Harry, on three. One…two……three!"

Harry's fingertips brushed the wooden surface, and suddenly he was tearing through time and space in a howl on colour and light.

And, with a THUD! Harry landed on his arse on the dank grass on Grimmauld place, Hedwig's cage rolling away, Hedwig shrieking inside. Harry ran to pick her up, and returned to professor Lupin, who turned, and strode through the drizzling rain towards a dingy house that seemed to have just inflated between numbers 11 and 13. Remus knocked, and Mrs Weasley opened he door.

"Thank God you're here Remus!" She gasped, stepping back to let them in. "Oh Harry, give me Hedwig, she'll just get distressed if you take her upstairs."

Puzzled, Harry handed Hedwig over, and followed Remus on tiptoe through the hall. He noticed a bottlebrush ginger tail which vanished downstairs to the kitchen,

'which,' he thought happily, 'must mean Hermione is here!'

They ascended the stairs, and then more stairs, and then more still.

"Remus," Harry panted, as they climbed up yet more flights of stairs, "What's going on? Why's Hedwig so scared? What's the emergency?"

Remus stopped outside a door on the top floor of the house. He turned to Harry, and spoke seriously.

"Harry, something came into the square last night. It was discovered by a muggle. He was screaming so loud, it was…everyone heard him. We had to put a memory charm on him."

Remus swallowed, and continued.

"Anyway, this…creature, it only speaks one language, as far as we know, so we need your help, to find out what its saying."

"Only one…Parseltongue!" Harry breathed.

Remus nodded. Harry turned, and faced the door. He gripped the doorknob, carved like a serpent, and twisted it.

The room was dark, lit only by guttering candlelight. His eyes travelled over Mad-eye Moody, standing in a corner his wand drawn, his magical eye darting here and there. Over Professor McGonagall, standing stiffly by the door. Over Snape (his insides contracted in hate) who was sneering by the portrait of an arrogant looking boy with dark hair. Harry glared at him.

Then his eyes fell on the dark green bed with hard birch bedsteads, and he gasped.

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**What is this creature? Find out in the next chapter!**

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	4. What matters

**Chapter Four –What Matters**

Disclaimer: You know what belongs to the genius of J.K.Rowling. If you don't, why on earth are you reading Harry Potter Fanfiction?

Please Read and Review! (Pretty Please!)

**_In this story, words written like this are in parseltongue!_**

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_The room was dark, lit only by guttering candlelight. His eyes travelled over Mad-eye Moody, standing in a corner his wand drawn, his magical eye darting here and there. Over Professor McGonagall, standing stiffly by the door. Over Snape (his insides contracted in hate) who was sneering by the portrait of an arrogant looking boy with dark hair. Harry glared at him._

_Then his eyes fell on the dark green bed with hard birch bedsteads, and he gasped._

Harry stared. Sitting on the bed was a woman…a creature…a _thing_…Harry couldn't decide which.

The head and torso was of a naked woman, blood oozing from ragged slashes and cuts in her sides, and its fingers were clawed and bloody. The thing had long silver hair, which glittered in the dancing candlelight. The eyes were like a snake's, a black slit slicing jade-coloured orbs in half.

Harry's eyes moved down, and the thing which really made this creature so shocking filled his vision. Where legs would have been was a long, scaly, bronze-armoured snake's tail. It was seamlessly attached to the waist of the creature, skin solidifying to become scales. At the moment, the tail was enveloped in coils around the torso, protectively.

Harry raised his eyes to the snake-woman's face and found that she was glowering at him.

**_Are any human's going to act as though I can think? _**She hissed, and as she did, Harry saw a snake's tongue flickering in her mouth. **_Or will they all keep gawking at me, like an animal?_**

**_I'm sorry _**Harry stammered.

Her eyes were piercing and full of anger. But they widened in surprise, and she rapidly uncoiled her tail, rising on up from the bed. Moody, Professor McGonagall and Snape all pointed their wands at her. Harry then noticed long scratches in the bed frame, and claw marks on the walls. The snake-woman lowered herself slightly, scowling at them. Turning, she spoke to Harry again.

_**You speak my language, human?**_

_**Yes, and my name is Harry.**_

**_I shall call you human. _**She replied haughtily. Harry frowned.

_**I take it you're not a human who had an accident?**_

She spat angrily, and the three order members raised their wands again.

**_I, a common human! How dare you! I, you common, filthy human-_**

Professor McGonagall sent a stunning spell at her, and she dodged, hissing furiously, opening her mouth, revealing sharp, pointed canines.

"Outside Potter!" Moody yelled as the livid snake-woman launched herself at Professor McGonagall. Harry dashed for the door, just as a piece of ripped up birch bedstead shattered against the wall.

He dived outside, Remus grabbing him and pulling him away from the door. Harry could here the serpentine female hissing and spitting as the order members tried to get it under control. Shacklebolt and Mr Weasley ran up the stairs and into the room.

"Come on Harry." Remus was saying, and leading him, went down the many flights of stairs, past the sleeping portrait of Mrs Black, down to the kitchen.

Everyone was seated there, Dumbledore in his spangled purple cloak, Bill, Mrs Weasley, Ron and Hermione (he grinned at them), Ginny (his stomach gave a pleasurable squirm), Mundungus, and many other order members like Mr Diggle, Mrs Figg, and, a new person, Mrs Bones, from the Wizengemot.

Harry sat between Ron and Hermione, and grinned around. Everyone beamed back. Mrs Weasley gave Harry a butterbeer, which Harry opened.

After a minute of drinking, Harry choked, coughed, and said "So…what exactly _is _that thing upstairs?"

"We hoped **you** could tell us that, Harry" said Dumbledore, sounding disappointed.

Harry glowered at him. "How am I supposed to know? I can't exactly ask when it's trying to kill me, can I!"

"No, I suppose you can't," mused Dumbledore. Everyone stared at him, and Harry took a swig of butterbeer.

"Dumbledore, why is that thing here?" growled a voice from the doorway.

Mad-eye Moody limped in, sporting a bloody nose. Snape entered after him, and Harry choked again. A spectacular black eye was blooming around Snape's right eye. He glared at the group and went off to the cupboard, evidently to find a potion to remove it. He was followed by Professor McGonagall, who alone seemed unscathed.

"Why is it here?" Moody repeated, staring angrily at the Headmaster. Harry stared nonplussed at Moody, and Ron, Hermione and Ginny appeared just as puzzled.

"I want her here to find out what she's after." Dumbledore responded calmly. "She is important."

"Why don't we just kill it?" Moody retorted harshly. "Wipe the foul species off the Earth!"

Everyone in the vicinity gasped. Dumbledore sat at the table, looking calm, but firm.

"Alastor-" he began, but Moody had wheeled around, and marched out of the kitchen, his wooden leg smacking against the stone floor. Dumbledore sighed, and slumped back against the chair he sat in.

"Dumbledore?" Mr Weasley and Shacklebolt entered the room. "We've got the creature under control again."

Dumbledore nodded, and stood up. Everybody watched him.

"The creature upstairs will need to be guarded. I have to leave now, and go to Hogwarts." Dumbledore said, striding towards the door. "Harry, will you try to talk to the creature again?"

Harry hesitated. "I'll…try."

"Albus, no!" Mrs Weasley protested. "It's much too dangerous!"

"He's the only one who can, Molly." Dumbledore said wearily. "Oh, yes…"

He pulled three brown packages from his cloak, and held them out. Hogwarts letters for Harry, Ron and Hermione, each thicker than usual, which could mean one thing – OWL results.

"Your broomstick is being sent to you by post, and a Gringotts Goblin will be coming here on the 16th of August to read Sirius' will."

With that, Dumbledore left. Mrs Weasley stood up, and followed him. Snape sneered at Harry and went after them. The order members rose and exited.

Harry's heart, which had risen at the mention of his Firebolt, had plummeted at the mention of Sirius. He lowered his head, and then suddenly he felt a pair of arms wrapping around him, and a hand on his shoulder. Another hand covered his, stroking it soothingly.

"Don't worry, Harry." Hermione whispered.

"Yeah, we're there for you mate." Ron said.

"Always." murmured Ginny.

Harry couldn't tell them how much it meant for them to be there, lifting him up, supporting him. He swallowed, rubbing his eyes furiously. They held him tightly, comforting him. When the burning grief in his throat had subsided somewhat, he said shakily.

"I've…I've got something to tell you guys."

They looked at him, questioningly.

"It's about the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione shushed him.

"Well, that prophecy, it was just a record. Dumbledore heard the real thing, and he showed it to me." He swallowed. "Basically I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort, I've got a power Voldemort doesn't know of and……either I kill him, or………he kills me."

There was silence. Then,

"Oh, Harry." Hermione cried sadly, tears blossoming in her eyes. Harry looked up and saw teardrops streaking down Ron and Ginny's faces. His eyes welled up, and suddenly they were in a heap, hugging each other. Harry felt safe, in his friend's embraces, as they wept for him. Then they heard the door opening up the stairs from the hallway. They jumped up.

"Why is it always me?" Harry mumbled, as Hermione detached herself gently from him.

"I don't know Harry," she sighed miserably, as Mrs Weasley entered. "I just don't know."

"Haven't you opened your letters yet?" Mrs Weasley asked, oblivious to the talk that had just happened.

Hermione yelped, and grabbed her letter, ripped it open, and sat down. Smiling slightly, Harry picked up his own, and peeled it open, and read:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_You will find enclosed a sheet of parchment with your OWL results on it. You will be pleased to know that the _(the word 'bitch' had been written and crossed out. Harry grinned) _previous headmistress was able to interfere with your or any friends OWL results._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Professor McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry pulled out a piece of card, took a deep breath, and read:

_Potter, Harry James_

_OWL Results:_

_Transfiguration - E_

_Charms - O_

_History of Magic - P_

_Herbology - E_

_Potions - O_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts - O_

_Care of Magical Creatures - E_

_Astronomy - A_

_Divination - P_

_I hope you are pleased with your results. Have a good summer._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Griselda Marchbanks_

_Chair of Hogwarts school Governors_

_Ministry of Magic _

Harry grinned. SEVEN OWLS! And he had got an Outstanding in Potions! Snape wouldn't be happy! Ron was grinning too.

"Brilliant - Six OWLs! How about you, Harry?"

"Great! I got seven!"

"Well done boys!" beamed Mrs Weasley. Ginny looked nervously at Hermione, who was still. The two boys and Mrs Weasley turned to look at her.

"Hermione?" Ginny whispered. Hermione looked up, a wide smile spreading over her face. She shook, and thrust a piece of card. They looked down it. Next to every subject was a round, black O. They looked up at Hermione, beaming. She bit her lip.

"Should I…"

"Definitely." They grinned.

Hermione punched her fist in the air and yelled, "YES!"

They laughed and congratulated her. Harry beamed at Hermione, thinking that no matter what lay ahead of him, it was the fact that he had friends, here and now, who would stick by him, laugh with him, cry with him, and be with him through thick and thin, that is what mattered.

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	5. Why is she here?

**Chapter Five - Why is she here?**

Disclaimer: You know what belongs to the genius of J.K.Rowling. If you don't, why on earth are you reading Harry Potter Fanfiction?

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_**In this story, words written like this are in parseltongue!**_

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_No matter what lay ahead of him, it was the fact that he had friends, here and now, who would stick by him, laugh with him, cry with him, and be with him through thick and thin, that was what mattered._

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Harry spent the next few days enjoying himself at Grimmauld Place. True, the snake-woman was still in the top floor bedroom, and he hadn't yet attempted to talk to her again, partly because he didn't really want to go back to Hogwarts with scratch marks gouged into his sides, and partly because Mrs Weasley didn't like the idea of him in the same room as a 'murderous she-devil'. And he had to agreed, he didn't like it either. 

The house was cleaner and much less violent than the last time Harry had been there, for example, none of the cloaks in the wardrobe of his and Ron's room tried to strangle him when he opened it; there were no more biting slippers in the hall, no more biting doxies in the curtains and no more foul mouthed Kreacher.

However Mrs Black was still firmly on the wall, and happy to shriek at anyone who awoke her. This would usually start off a fit of hissing and spitting from the top floor. Harry alone could understand this volley of insults coming from the ceiling. He'd not known there were that many swear words.

"So…whatever happened to Kreacher?" Harry whispered, as he, Hermione and Ron tiptoed past Mrs Black's hidden portrait.

Ron grimaced and Hermione sighed as they descended the stone steps to the kitchen, lit by shimmering candlelight, casting an eerie glow over the tabletop, where Mrs Weasley was serving out a simmering chicken stew to Ginny, Remus and Mr Weasley.

"It was pretty gruesome, really." Ron said, as he sat down, and took a bowl of hot, steaming stew from his mother. Harry watched as Remus, Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley exchanged a glance.

"I don't think that story should be told now, Ron," Mr Weasley said, handing a bowl of stew to Harry. Ron shrugged, and began to eat at a brutal speed.

Ginny and Hermione shared revolted looks, and began to eat their food with quiet dignity. Harry was silent, thinking about Kreacher and Sirius, and how much Sirius had hated it here.

He was just thinking that he hoped Kreacher had died a painful death, when he was jerked sharply back to reality by Mrs Weasley asking him if he needed to go to Diagon Alley.

He nodded, pulling his school list out of his pocket. He needed new robes and a new wizard's hat, he grown over the summer. His potions scales had rusted through too. He noticed that there was no new DADA book or Potions book, in fact the only new book he needed was 'A Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6'.

"Well, I expect we'll have to go sometime this holiday. I'll arrange with the Order for a time for us to go with a guard. Or maybe we'll get some Ministry Cars and Aurors – they're being a lot friendlier to us now…"

Mrs Weasley removed the stew pot from the table and placed it on one of the work surfaces around the kitchen. Then she sat down, and started eating her stew, while still talking about shopping.

"…and Ginny needs new dress robes - and Ron needs new boxers come to that, though we may be able to get some for him cheap, like the magenta one's we got for him at Robe's For All Occasions, but-"

Ron stood up, his eyes and neck scarlet, his spoon clattering against his now empty bowl.

"Coming Harry, Hermione?" There was an air of desperation to leave in his voice.

They nodded and took their bowls to the sink, and escaped from the room quickly. They had just stepped into the hall when the doorbell rang, clear and sharp in the dusty air. Harry, Ron and Hermione froze. They braced themselves.

"MUDBLOODS! FILTH! DIRT! DISGRACED, DEFILED AND DISOWNED CREATURES OF VILENESS!"

Predictably, horribly, the mouldy grey curtains flew apart, Sirius' mother standing there, in the faded canvas, red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes flashing, sharp nailed fingers clawing at them, spit flying from her mouth as she wailed.

CRASH!

Four floors up, Kingsley Shacklebolt was sent flying as an enraged creature smashed through the wooden door.

The snake-woman was not happy.

She had been attacked, forced to sit on a bed for hours, hearing stupid humans ask her questions, which she could understand of course, but why ask a question, if you can't understand the answer? _And_ she had to listen to that annoying Black woman scream. _And_ she was hungry. Well, she'd had it. She turned and slithered easily down the many flights of stairs.

Harry turned as he attempted to pull the curtain over Mrs Black's face, which was yowling at him, and saw the snake-woman slither down the stairs. She looked murderous.

Order members ran out of a door to the left, and crowded around Harry and the others. Mr and Mrs Weasley and Remus charged out of the doorway leading to the kitchen, followed by Ginny. As one, all wands rose, to point at the angry creature. For a moment there was silence, as everyone stared at the creature, and it glared back, then:

"BLOOD TRAITORS!" bawled Mrs Black.

**_SHUT UP! _**Spat the creature, rising up on its tail, so it was as tall as any of the Order members. Ron pushed Ginny back against the wall, away from the creature, though Ginny smacked his hands away angrily.

Though the creature's words must have just been a furious hiss to Mrs Black, the portrait fell silent, apparently having only just seen the snake-woman. What came next shocked everyone. Mrs Black gathered her mouldy brown flock in her talon-like fingers, and gave a curtsey.

"My Lady," she croaked, and her voice was no longer hateful; it was full of reverence and respect. "So glad to have you here again."

Everyone gawped at her. The creature looked at Mrs Black in a slightly smug, yet slightly mollified way.

Then the doorbell rang again, more impatiently. Apparently in all the commotion it was forgotten. Mrs Weasley ran to open the doorway, as Mrs Black said scornfully,

"I wish I could be here to help you myself, my Lady, instead of _these_ Blood Traitors and their … err … _generous _hospitality."

Mrs Weasley flung the door open, revealing Professor Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody. They stepped inside, Dumbledore raising an eyebrow at the scene in front of him: The snake woman 'standing' by the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by Order members, their wands raised, and Mrs Black glowering at the Order members.

Moody stepped inside, glowering at the creature. It stared calmly back. Mrs Weasley shut the front door, looking nervous.

"Well, this _is _awkward." Dumbledore said cheerfully, after several minute's silence.

"Why doesn't the young lady, I mean snake…no-"

**_What do you want? _**She hissed, eyes flashing. Dumbledore peered around, and spotted Harry.

"Translation, please, Harry." Dumbledore called. Harry looked around startled, then coughed, nervously.

"Oh, well...she asked 'what do you want', Professor." Harry muttered, uncomfortably aware of the piercing emerald eyes watching him, as well as most of the Order.

"Why don't you go back to the room upstairs?" Dumbledore offered.

There was no need for a translation here. The creature hissed and her eyes smouldered in fury, her open red mouth bearing pointed, gleaming fangs.

**_Why don't you come to the kitchen with me? _**Harry asked suddenly, thinking fast. He didn't wantthe creatureto get soangry it started killing Order memberd. All eyesin the hall turned to look at him. **_You must be hungry, and tired._**

The creature seemed to consider, then nodded. Harry cleared his throat, and then addressed the crowded hall.

"The snake-woman is coming down to the kitchen with me, OK everyone? Move out of the way."

Slowly, the crowd of Order members shifted and parted like the Red Sea, allowing the snake woman to hesitantly move through them, glaring suspiciously at them, and then, with a calculating look at Harry, slid down the stairs to the kitchen.

Harry was about to follow her, when Moody suddenly leapt forward (which is quite a feat, when one of your legs is a piece of wood), shoved Harry out of the way, and slammed the door shut. A muffled cry of serpentine rage sounded from behind the door.

"Colloportus!" Moody roared. The door quivered as a heavy body slammed onto the other side of it, but didn't open.

"Alastor!" cried several voices, but Moody snarled, and twisted to face Dumbledore.

"Meeting!" he barked. "**Now**, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore sighed, and gestured to the crowd of stunned adults. Slowly, they lowered their wands and walked into the room from which they had charged out. Remus threw Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny an apologetic look, as the door swung shut, and they were left standing by Mrs Black's now silent portrait, whose moth-eaten curtains swung gently back over her face. Harry was still sitting on the floor, where Moody had thrust him away.Harry heard an angry sigh, and the sound of something slithering down the stairs, and a faint hissing voice say **_Chicken stew?_**

Harry felt numb; he hadn't meant for the creature to get locked in, he had really going to go to the kitchen with her, as a show of good faith.

_What was Moody's problem?_

"What … just … happened?" Ron said slowly, walking over to Harry and pulling him upright.

"I don't know." Hermione frowned slightly, biting her lip, looking worried.

Ginny was scowling at the door, her hands on her hips.

"Typical!" she snorted. "Something concerning us happens and we get left out."

She fished around in her pocket and drew out four long, flesh-coloured strings.

"Lucky they were in a hurry to get in there. No Imperturbable Charm."

They grinned, and each took a string, placing the end at the gap under the door. Sticking the other end in their ears, they could suddenly hear a deafening argument happening on the other side of the wall, though as loud and clear as it would be, were it happening right next to them.

"…be reasonable man!" Mr Weasley was saying heatedly, as voices babbled in the background. A harsh, angry laugh split the air, and they heard a roar of rage.

"I'm being reasonable Arthur!" that was Moody,snarling. "And all I want is **THAT THING DEAD**! That's perfectly reasonable!"

Then there was a loudBANG, which made all four teenagers outside the door jump.

"That's quite enough." Dumbledore voice was calm, but his voice cut through the tension like a sharp knife. "The creature stays here, and-" he raised his voice over a slight outbreak of muttering, "- she is **not** to be harmed. She is important, and may have vital information we can use against Voldemort."

There was silence, and then Moody spoke, cold fury still ringing in every syllable.

"Alright Dumbledore." He growled. "Alright. I'll play along in your little game. But there's one thing I want to know. Why are you so keen on preserving this … this _thing_?" He spat. "Why's she so damned special, eh? Why's she so important?"

"She is Voldemort's wife." Dumbledore said.

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You'll find out more about Voldemort's wife next chapter folks.


	6. Notice!

Attention Readers! This story is going to be moved to an M-rating. The more mature writing will not be obvious at once, but there may be more violence and horror in the story, I haven't yet decided, but I think I should move the story up to M, just in case.

The sixth chapter will be coming along shortly, sorry it's taking so long!


	7. Tales of Treachery

**Chapter Six –Tales of Treachery **

Disclaimer: You know what's JK's, I know what's mine, everyone's happy. And no one sues!

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* * *

_**In this story, words written like this are in parseltongue!**_

Wow, what a long chapter. I'm sorry it's taken so long!

* * *

"_She is Voldemort's wife." Dumbledore said.

* * *

_

There was a heavy, ringing silence which echoed horribly around the motionless, grimy atmosphere. Harry crouched on the dusty floor in front of the door, the Extendable Ear trailing from his own ear, his mind frozen, yet feeling as thought he had just been winded by a punch. Then heavy, banging footsteps thudded towards the door from the other side of the wall.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione leapt up, away from the wall, hurriedly stuffing the Extendable Ears into their pockets. Harry yanked the string out of his ear and dived away from the door as Mad-Eye Moody smashed it open. It bounced off the wall, nearly falling off its hinges, bits of plaster and peeling wallpaper raining down onto the threadbare carpet.

Moody didn't notice Harry on the floor, quickly sliding the eavesdropping device into his pocket, nor Hermione, Ron and Ginny, standing by the stairs, with unconvincing looks of surprise and innocence on their faces. Also the fact that they were gawping in surprise at Moody didn't help.

Harry had never seen a scarier looking face. It made Voldemort's gruesome mask look like the features of a cute, cuddly kitten.

Moody's magical eye was quivering in it's socket and was fixated on a spot to the left of Harry in the floor, which must mean he was watching Voldemort's wife. His other eye was bloodshot, glaring and full of revulsion. His features were twisted in fury, his nose was wrinkled, which made the chunk that was missing seem to be splitting his nose in two. His scars were stretched as he glowered, which made it look as though half his face had been gouged out, and was streaked with shadow.

His mouth was open in a vicious snarl, jagged, yellowing teeth exposed. His entire body was shuddering in a frenzy of rage. He had his wand clasped in his hand and was reaching out for the handle of the kitchen door, when:

"Alastor!"

The headmaster had come back into the hall, followed by Mrs Weasley and Professor Lupin. Crookshanks appeared from around the coat stand, took one look at Moody's face and raced like an orange streak up the stairs to the first floor. Dumbledore walked slowly over to Moody, and laid a wrinkled hand on his quivering shoulder.

"I know you don't like her," Dumbledore said quietly, "And I know you have a good reason not to. But please, Alastor, leave her be. You said you'd do what I said."

Moody shook with fury, as he glared at the door, his hand still on the door handle. His fist was still clenched on his wand, as he scowled ahead, acting as though the Headmaster wasn't there.

"Alastor…" Dumbledore whispered, woefully. "Killing her won't bring back Rosa."

Moody did not move for a moment, then with an angry grunt, he whipped around, and hobbled to the door, raising his wand. The locks and bolts on the door shot back, Moody twisted the handle and flung the door wide open, onto a cold, dark evening.

"I'll be at the Ministry, not that anyone needs me." Moody spat over his shoulder, and marched stiffly out of the house, his wooden leg thwacking against the stone step outside the door. Before anybody could call out to him, he turned and apparated with a sound like a whip crack, leaving a bewildered silence behind him.

Remus crossed the hall to the front door, closed it gently, and slid the numerous locks securely into place. Then he turned on the spot, to face Dumbledore.

"Who's Rosa, Albus?"

Dumbledore shook his head, wretchedly.

"That is for Alastor to tell you, not me." Dumbledore sighed, rotating and walking to the kitchen door, and turning the handle. "And it is time we talked properly to Tom's wife."

He opened the door slowly, and stepped onto the uneven stone stairs down to the kitchen. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mrs Weasley and Mr Weasley, Lupin and Tonks, who had come out of the meeting room, to see what was going on, followed him down the stairway lit by a few stubby candles.

Harry stepped into the cavernous kitchen, looking towards the vast mantelpiece at the other end of the kitchen, underneath which was a glowing fire that was flickering and illuminating a figure at the end of the wooden table, their back to the fire, eating a large bowl of chicken stew, with a candle in front of the person, lighting up their features.

Harry had never fully appreciated it before, but the serpentine lady was strangely beautiful. Her ivory skin shone in the firelight, her big, green eyes, sparkling in the glow from the candle. She held a silver spoon with her thin, sharp fingers, her crimson lips parting to reveal white, sharp teeth, her smooth, vulnerable throat raised as she swallowed the stew. Her other hand cradled the white bowl, as she ate from it. Her silvery locks cascaded onto her breasts, past her waist (which born the scarlet scars of newly-healed wounds) and pooled in her bronze, scaly lap.

Her slit-like pupils dilated as she lifted her head, and watched with narrowed eyes as the group of people enter the room, and sat around her. Her left hand, which was holding the bowl tensed. Dumbledore stared the serpentine lady in the eye, and said to her,

"You are Voldemort's wife." It was a statement, not a question.

**_Voldemort? _**A frown creased the snake woman's smooth forehead, and her words were oozing with mistrust and doubt.**_ What is a Voldemort?_**

"You know, Voldemort." Harry said, in English. "Snake features, red eyes, hates muggleborns…Hang on a moment, you can understand English?"

**_I understand all human words, but it is easier to hear a word, than let it fall off your tongue. _**She said matter-of-factly, though still with a suspicious edge to her words. **_And I do not know what a 'Voldemort' is._**

Every person in the room was staring at Harry. Professor Dumbledore had a puzzled expression on his lined face.

"What's wrong Harry?" Dumbledore enquired. Harry turned in his seat to face him.

"She doesn't seem to know who Voldemort is, Professor."

"I don't understand." The old man shook his head in bafflement. "You are married to Voldemort, I _know _you are. Is not your name Swetha?"

**_That is my name, human. _**The being nodded, spooning more stew into her mouth. **_I am married to a powerful man, yes, but I have not heard of this 'Voldemort'. _**

**_Who is this man you are married to? _**Harry questioned, watching as 'Swetha' scooped up the last of the stew into her mouth. She swallowed, and replied;

**_His true name I do not know. I met him, long ago, in my birthplace in, what I believe humans call, Nagaland. We parted, many years before now._**

"What did she say Harry?" Hermione interjected, her face shining in the candlelight. When he had repeated Swetha's word's, Hermione frowned.

"Isn't Nagaland in India?" She queried the part human sitting opposite her. Mr Weasley nodded and leaned forwards to hear the response.

**_Well, yes, that is where I come from, human girl. _**Swetha bared her fangs.

"You're from India?" Harry repeated. Everyone stared at him, then at the serpentine woman.

"If you're from India, what are you doing here?" Ron demanded. There was silence.

The snake-like eyes rolled onto him and narrowed. Ron faltered and began fidgeting nervously under the piercing stare. Harry suddenly wondered whether snakes were any good at Legilimency.

**_I came here. _**The snake lady said, hissing slowly, tracing a steady circle in the table's woodwork, with a long, clawed finger,**_ because of my husband, my lifelong companion. I suppose I should tell you the story of my husband, seeing as you are all _so_ interested. _**

**_You, human, _**she pointed a clawed finger at Harry. She no longer sounded suspicious, but her clawed hands were still only inches away from Harry's. **_Can you translate for them?_**

**_I can, _**Harry frowned, **_but I won't if you keep calling me human. I have a name, it's Harry. I don't call you…What _are_ you anyway? We don't even know what you are. All I know is that you're part-human._**

Swetha was silent for a while. Then she asked an odd question.

**_How did you get your ability of talk to serpents?_**

Harry stared at her, and then answered. **_Voldemort. He transferred the power to me when he tried to kill me. But he couldn't kill me._**

Swetha smiled at Harry, a fanged, thin-lipped smile, which made her look even more beautiful. Everyone was looking back and forth between the two of them, trying to work out what they were saying.

**_Then I will tell the tale of my people first. Who they are and how they came to be. Translate the tale for me, Harry._**

Harry grinned, glad that she that decided to call him by his name. He told the others what she was going to tell them. When they were listening, and were all comfortable, Swetha began, Harry deciphering as fast as he could to keep up.

**_I am of an ancient race of people, _**Swetha began**_ who, in India, worshipped snakes and, one day decided to become like the snakes they devoted._**

**_They went deep underground, to a sacred temple, and gave their souls to the snake king Vasuki, who was both man and snake. He was of an ancient race of snakes known as Naga. These snakes are divine, powerful, of an ancient, royal bloodline and come in many shapes and sizes. The Earth itself, according to our folklore, sits on the many heads of a great naga snake, Ananta. _**

**_Vasuki looked kindly upon the people because they loved and respected the many snakes upon the earth and he alone of nagakind was both of human kind and serpent kind. _**Swetha paused, and looked around at them all, then carried on.

**_When the people emerged from underneath the planet's surface, they were one with the snake, and spoke with snake's tongues and saw with snake's eyes. In return for the souls, the king gave the people aid when they needed it. Their children were born from snake eggs, and when the eggs were laid, inside each egg with their children, was a guardian naga snake (called a Zahir) which would hatch with the child, and follow it all its days, until death. _**

**_The people had so loved the king that they chose to live underground, with the king and the snakes, and, slowly, they began to build a great, prosperous civilisation, and over time, they all but forgot what it was to be human. For the way they became like snakes, and had entered into the royal bloodline line, they were called nagas._**

**_That is what I am. _**Swetha hissed. **_A naga, or _nagini**(Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick, significant glance) **_which is the female version of the name. Just as humans call themselves man and woman. We live in peace in Nagaland, seeing as we cannot live anywhere else. _**

"Why not?" Ginny asked when Harry, now with a raw and aching throat, had interpreted Swetha's words.

**_I will continue the history of the Naga's which will answer your question. _**Swetha said.

Harry groaned quietly. Swetha smiled sweetly, and suggested they had a quick break. Everyone agreed eagerly once Harry had told them what she had said.

Dumbledore rose, and called a short meeting with the Order members, undoubtedly to tell them what had just been said, though Tonks and Lupin stayed at the doorway, probably on Dumbledore's orders to act as guards.

Ron dashed upstairs to the toilet (he had been squirming in his seat all through the story), Hermione sat on the floor and stared into the flickering fire, deep in thought. Harry considered telling Swetha that Lord Voldemort owned a snake named Nagini.

The nagini rose abruptly off the wooden bench and slid towards the work surface by the wall, carrying her empty bowl. Upon the wooden surface sat the large black pot, in which the chicken stew still simmered. She clasped the ladle, and shovelled the food into the bowl. Harry watched her, fascinated.

**_Hungry, are you? _**Harry called across the room. Tonks and Lupin turned to watch Harry, as he hissed at Swetha.

_**Starving. **_

Swetha brought the bowl back to the table, curled her tail tightly around the bench, and picked up the spoon lying on the tabletop, and was about to eat, when she put the spoon down again.

**_Harry? _**Harry leapt in his seat, and looked up at the half human before him.

**_Could you please inform the two adult humans that there is an unconscious human on the top floor of this house, and that he probably should be attended to? _**Swetha asked, beginning to spoon food into her mouth.

_**Sure.**_

Harry got up and moved over to Remus, and told him what Swetha had said. Remus looked worried and slipped out of the room, up the rough stone steps. Harry turned to go back to the table when an orange bolt of lightning shot between his legs, his legs got tangled up and he fell flat on his face. Looking up, he saw Crookshanks step onto Hermione's lap as she sat on the floor by the wall, warming herself by the fire. Ginny snorted, stood up, and did a twirling movement and fell over, as a stupid impression of Harry, and sat on the floor, pulling a mock dumb face, which made everyone laugh. Harry blushed, embarrassed.

Tonks was giggling, but the noise that Swetha was making was amazing. She banged the table, and laughed so hard, she had tears streaking down her cheeks. Harry had never heard a snake laugh, but it was beautiful. A hissing, whistling sort of a noise. A bit like the old recorder he remembered using at nursery when he was four. Before Dudley had stolen it from him, of course.

Ron entered the room and stared around at the hissing, hiccupping nagini and the sniggering girls. He shrugged to himself and sat down on the by the fire and snuck coveted looks at the nagini, still teary-eyed, eating behind him. Hermione was gently stroking Crookshanks, Ginny was humming 'Weasley is our king' under her breath, glancing towards the door. Harry stood up and took a seat at the table, next to Swetha, and watched the candlelight dancing on Ginny's red hair. He had been thinking about her all summer.

Swetha rubbed her eyes, hiccupping, and picked up her spoon again. Remus entered the room, looking slightly amused, and began to have a whispered conversation with Tonks. Harry observed Ginny silently for several long moments, and then decided to tell Swetha.

"Did you know Voldemort's got a snake called Nagini?" He asked her, in English.

The spoon paused mid-way on the open lips. Hermione's hand paused her stroking, and Crookshank's head turned to face Harry, as though he had understood every word. Ron's back had stiffened, and Ginny was still looking at the door, but there was no humming coming from her. Tonks and Remus did not move from the door, but their eyes flickered from Harry to Swetha. Harry knew they were all listening, raptly.

**_You had a description of the man you believe to be my husband, did you not? _**Swetha said slowly, the spoon gently dripping stew onto the tabletop. **_Can you tell me it again?_**

**_Uh…sure. _**Harry gabbled.**_ Red, snake eyes, pale skin, long fingers, he hates non-magical humans, and he has a snake called nagini…that's it really._**

**_Yes, perhaps that is Idris. _**Swetha nodded. Now all Harry's friends were paying attention. Ginny had turned to sit facing Swetha, Ron had leapt up onto a bench, and Hermione had picked up a disgruntled Crookshanks and brought him on sit on her lap at the table. Harry repeated all of Swetha's words.

"Idris?" Ginny asked, curiously, as Harry drew a deep breath and Ron sat down.

**_Well, like I said, I never knew his real name. He never told me it. He said it was given to him by a non-magical man, who hated him and the snakes and this was shameful to him. So I called him Idris, for he said that one day, he would purge the land of those unfaithful to snakes, like the non-magical people, and magical people with the unfaithful blood, with fire and conflict._**

Glances were exchanged, and eyebrows rose. Hermione leaned in towards Swetha, and inquisitively asked "So what do you think? About non-magical people? And people with, err … 'unfaithful blood'?"

**_I do not feel one way or the other. I am generally suspicious with humans until I get to know them. I am angry with people who hate snakes, but I do not hate non-magical people for no reason, even if their ancestors were unfaithful. _**Swetha replied calmly. **_That is one of my husband's great weaknesses. He _has_ to hate non-magical people. Only I can halt his killing, but after all he's been through, I don't know if I want to stop him. _**

There was silence in the kitchen. Swetha suddenly realised that her spoon was dripping, and she hastily put it in her mouth. Ron caught Harry's eye and stood up, and went back to the fire. Hermione was deep in thought again, and Ginny stretched, rubbed her eyes, and wandered away from the table, to talk to Tonks and Professor Lupin.

Crookshanks leapt up onto the table, and began lapping up the stew Swetha had spilt. Swetha reached out a clawed finger, and gently scratched Crookshanks' ear. The ginger cat purred loudly, and leapt onto Swetha's scaly lap. Hermione looked up, apparently just realising that Crookshanks had gone. She appeared slightly hurt at the fact that Crookshanks preferred a nagini to his mistress. Harry noticed that Crookshanks and Swetha seemed to be having a private conversation that only they could hear. Swetha could blink and Crookshanks twitched his nose and purred. Swetha grinned and scratched Crookshanks' ears. Crookshanks purred and curled up in her lap.

"So you speak cat?" Harry joked. Ginny laughed, Hermione frowned and Ron did nothing, but stretched, yawned and laid himself on the floor in front of the fire.

**_Not exactly, but all animals can understand each other. Humans are only the exception. They don't really listen to anything but themselves._**

Hermione was definitely looking offended now. Ron yawned again, and looked up as the door at the top of the stairs opened.

A large group of people entered the room; Dumbledore, Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley were there, but also Professor McGonagall, Bill, a slightly bandaged and annoyed Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher and Snape. Ron and Ginny sat down at the table and the group joined them. Tonks and Remus stayed at the door, as guards.

When everyone was sat down, and looking at the nagini, Swetha glanced at Harry and he nodded, to signal he was ready. So she began to tell the rest of the history of the Nagas.

**_The Naga King Vasuki gave his people many more gifts than outward appearance. _**Swetha hissed, as Harry interpreted. **_The snakes worked for the people, but did so gladly, because they were well cared for. The people gained powers of snakes, and kept birds (snake's natural enemy) away from them._**

**_The people rejoiced at the generosity of the snakes, and dwelled in peace in the underground land of the serpents. Even those humans, who chose not to become one with the snake, respected and admired them. Some nagas chose to move away from the temple, even from India, but were welcomed everywhere. Humans were allowed into the underground city, (though not into the temple) and lived in harmony with Nagas. My people made a deal with them, to have peace with humans. And in their lives all seemed perfect._**

**_But an unfaithful human managed to enter the sacred underground temple. _**

**_This human was one of those who had been blessed by magical powers. _**

"Magical powers? He was a wizard?" Mr Weasley interrupted suddenly, and Swetha's head turned in his direction.

**_Yes, he was. _**She said simply.

**_He did not love the snake, _**Swetha continued, **_and only came to obtain the snake's power, and therefore misused it. He was a foreigner, and had tricked the kind servants of the snake to help him receive the power of the serpents. They trusted him, and he betrayed us. He did not become one with the snake, but had a serpent's tongue._**

**_All his family claimed that the snake was their servant, and used it on their seals and shields, acting as though the snake was just a tool for their devices. They made the snakes work for them, and were cruel to them,_** **_because they could not truly control them. _**Swetha suddenly spat in anger. They all jumped.**_ As if any of _them_ could control a single snake!_**

**_What was the foreigner's name? _**Harry asked, interested. Swetha scowled darkly.

**_Slytherin. _**She hissed, her voice full of loathing and hatred.

Harry gasped. Rob, Hermione and Ginny stared at him, and he told everyone what she had said. They also gasped, and leaned in closer to encourage Swetha to continue. The adults shifted closer too.

**_Through him humans received the power of snake tongues, or as they called it, parseltongue. _**Swetha hissed as she stroked Crookshanks on her lap.

**_Our kind began to hate humans because of this great treachery, though we hated magical humans most of all. Those humans gifted with magic began to hide from humans without the gift, and we slipped out of human memory, or at least those humans with magical blood. We still loathed mysterious humans though._**

**_The feeling was made worse by the fact that most humans gifted by mysterious powers hated Slytherin and his ancestors, and thinking we were his allies, loathed and hated snakes and our kind. That is why we cannot live any where else but our homeland. _**Swetha hissed, turning to face Ginny, as Harry deciphered. **_Suddenly, all peoples were against us. Humans killed many of our kind. We were tortured horribly by them, and we did things to humans that - _**Swetha broke off, shuddering, her face blanched.

She took several, long, deep breath, trying to calm herself. Everyone watched and she dipped her silver spoon into the stew, and brought it trembling to her lips. Then a snide voice sounded from the end of the table unexpectedly.

"So your people killed innocent humans?" Snape sneered, a cruel smirk playing on his thin pallid face. "Don't worry, _my lady, _I'm sure it can be nothing compared to what your husband's achieved."

For a moment, everyone was completely silent, they minds trying to process what Snape had just said.

The spoon fell with a clatter onto the table, and stew spilt onto the wooden surface. Harry expected Swetha to launch herself at Snape, as she had launched herself at Harry, when he had called her a human, but she sat there, quivering, full of…was it fear? …Or shame?

Swetha dropped her glaze, and clenched her hands, trying to stop the trembling. Harry, to his utter astonishment, saw wet, shining tears streaking down her pale cheeks. Crookshanks sat up on Swetha's lap and lay a paw on her wet cheek. Swetha let out a weak, choked laugh. Harry was astonished at how she could change so much, one moment, furious at the thought of the treachery of Slytherin, and the next, crying because of a harsh taunt.

_There must be a painful memory in her heart._ Harry thought. _And it makes her cry._

"Severus." Dumbledore voice was soft, reproachful. Snape sneered, and swept, his black cloak billowing, up the stairs, out of the kitchen.

Dumbledore stood up. He walked over to Swetha, and laid an aged hand on her shoulder. She was trembling, tears still pouring uncontrollably over her face. She looked up at him, suddenly looking tired and weary.

"Time for bed, I think," Dumbledore said, kindly. Mrs Weasley looked at the dusty clock on the wall and yelped.

"Bed! Come on Ginny!" She began chivvying Ginny towards the door, Ginny angrily muttering dire threats. "That goes for you too, Ron!"

Professor McGonagall rose silently, and after catching Dumbledore's eye, swept out of the kitchen. The adults rose, and left, though Dumbledore remained. Bill looked curiously at Swetha, and followed Mundungus, who was slouching out of the door. Ron grumbled and trudged after his mother, who was still calling from him. Hermione rose slowly, casting a sideways glance at Swetha, and climbing over the bench, retreating out the upper hallway. Crookshanks stretched, and hopped off the nagini's lap, and padded after his mistress, up the stairs. Tonks and Remus left, Tonks appearing to be holding Remus' hand. Harry smiled slightly. He had been waiting for those two to pair up all summer.

Dumbledore's hand slipped from Swetha's shoulder, as he crossed the room and put a foot on the stairs. He turned and faced Harry and Swetha.

"The bed in the top floor will be prepared for you, Swetha. Go up to bed at your leisure."

Swetha nodded, her head still lowered, now just a trickle of tears falling onto her scaly tail. Dumbledore sighed, and the blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses had lost their customary twinkle.

"Please try and ignore Severus. He can be cruel and insensitive, I know."

Swetha nodded again, stared at her shaking hands, clasped in her lap. Dumbledore turned and walked up the stairs. For a moment, there were only the sound of Dumbledore's footsteps. The kitchen door creaked open, then swung shut with a snap.

Swetha rose suddenly. Harry started, but the snake woman simply slithered away from the table and sat down by the fire. Harry carefully rose and walked to stand beside her, then sat down and watched the glowing embers, sending smoke spiralling up the chimney. Harry looked sidelong at Swetha. She was no longer crying, staring into the fire, lost in thought, her tail lying by her in bronze coils.

_**Swetha?**_

_**Yes, Harry?**_

She did not look up, but still stared into the ashes of the dying fire. Harry continued.

**_Why were you so upset over Snape's words? He's just a git, you should ignore him._**

Swetha smiled faintly and bowed her head. When she spoke, her voice was soft and gentle.

**_Harry, in my country, I am only just an adult. Our years are much longer than yours and I am barely 20 years of age. I am a direct descendant of Vasuki, the Naga king. _**Harry stared at her.**_ That is why I know so much about humans, and your customs. Most of my race has never _seen_ a human before. We, we hate most humans, remember? Our feelings towards them only changed in the last 40 years. _**

Swetha bit her soft lip with a sharp, smooth tooth. A droplet of blood stained the fair skin, and slid down her pale jawbone. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant.

**_I…I want to apologise. For being so arrogant when we first met. I was blinded by anger at my treatment. I thought, when you spoke my language, you might be a descendent of Slytherin. And I suppose I was remembering my sister's words…_**

Harry looked at her, puzzled. He reached out and touched her hand. She turned her head, and looked at his hand on hers. Then she raised her eyes to his, questioningly.

"Swetha, you don't have to apologise." Harry said, squeezing her hand. "I don't know much about you, or you family, or your marriage to Voldemort, yet you already seem like a sister to me. You're an outcast here, like me."

_You are hated there, just like I'm hated at the Dursley's. _Harry thought. _At least I have friends here, in this house._

Swetha smiled. Harry smiled back, watching as she turned back to the smouldering coals in the fireplace, though his smile faded when she winched and placed her hand on her chest, when newly healed scars adorned her rib cage. Harry remembered the first time he saw her, she had been bleeding from deep wounds.

**_Magical humans have never liked my people. Not since Slytherin. _**Swetha spoke quietly, as though reading Harry's mind. Harry guessed that wizards had attacked her.

Swetha suddenly ascended in the air, her tail skidding out to support her weight. Harry leapt up, startled. Swetha swayed then moved to take the glowing candle from the table, and spoke, calmly.

_**I think it is time for rest.**_

Harry nodded numbly. He followed Swetha and her little candle out of the kitchen, up the stone stairs, into the empty, shadowy hallway, up the dusty stairs and along the dark first corridor, to his and Ron's bedroom. At the blistered and peeling door, he paused and said,**_ You know, you never did tell me the story of your husband. _**

**_No, I guess I didn't. Another time I suppose. _**Swetha smiled, and then hesitated. **_And Harry?_**

**_Yes, Swetha? _**Harry looked into the snake-like, jade-green eyes.

**_Could…could … _**Swetha seemed to be struggling for words. **_Could…Could you teach me your human language?_**

The last words came in a rush. Harry gazed at her, before grinning and saying,

"Sure."

Swetha smiled again, seemingly relieved. Harry twisted the brass door handle of his bedroom, but Swetha placed a hand on his arm. Harry looked up at her, questioningly.

_**Yes?**_

_**That human girl, with the red hair? You like her don't you?**_

**_Yeah…how did you know? _**Harry enquired, curiously.

**_I saw you, watching her. _**Swetha smiled, fangs exposed. Harry mentally slapped his head, and turned to leave.

_**Be careful, Harry.**_

Harry paused, about to push the door open. Swetha's eyes glittered green in the candlelight.

_**Of what?**_

When Swetha spoke, her voice was soft and low. **_Love is a perilous game. My husband, and…and other human men…they have taught me that._**

Harry turned sharply to look at her, but Swetha had slithered to the foot of the staircase to the upper floors. She put her clawed hand on the oak banister and smiled at the shadowy ceiling.

**_May Ananta bring you a calm sleep until the dawn. _**

With that strange goodnight, she slid away, up the stairs, her candle dancing, throwing light on the grey walls. Harry stood, confused for a moment, and then pushed the bedroom door open. The room was dark, though Harry could see the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus leaning against his ornate picture frame. Hedwig and Pig, Ron's owl, were snoozing on top of the wardrobe. Ron was in his bed, already snoring loudly in his paisley pyjamas.

Harry moved over to his bed, and yanked his t-shirt over his head, knocking his glasses askew and rumpling up his hair even more. He walked over to the mirror in the wardrobe door, and stared at his reflection. His hair was sticking on end, his glasses falling off his face and his scar still ever present, a red lightning bolt on his forehead. Overall, it had been an interesting day. He had fought out things he had never known. Though he had really wanted to know more about Voldemort. Or as Swetha had called him, Idris.

Harry was sure it was Voldemort, the description fitted perfectly:_ 'I never knew his real name. He never told me it. He said it was given to him by a non-magical man, who hated him and the snakes and this was shameful to him'_, that must have been Voldemort referring to his father.

_Maybe Voldemort, when he met Swetha was still Tom Riddle._ Harry thought, brushing his fringe back, so his scar was exposed._ But wait, Swetha said she recognised Voldemort's description. _

Harry sighed. He was suddenly exhausted and he had a feeling this mystery was going to get darker and deeper, but he straightened his glasses and felt his way across the room, and slumped onto his bed, sinking into the soft white duvet, grey in the gloom. From the corner of his eye he saw Phineas smirk and saunter out of the edge of his painting. He thought about what Swetha had said. _Love is a perilous game._ Love? He wasn't in love, was he? Not yet anyway.

He lay on top of the covers in his baggy jeans; watching shadows creep across the ceiling, wondering what would happen if Swetha ever found out about the prophecy, and that he was the only one who could kill her husband.

Then Harry fell asleep, into a dream devoid of dark shapes of evil omens or reminders of Sirius, but a dream where snakes of many colours and sizes slithered down a stone path. He watched them happily and turned to see a young woman with shining auburn hair laugh and twirl and fall over and look up to face him, then vanish. Then a soft voice spoke, and a warm, clawed hand touched his shoulder.

_**Love is a perilous game.**_

Harry awoke, rolled over, slept again, and did not remember the dream at all.

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Swetha is an Indian name which means 'pure'.

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**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! There are my thanks to you guys! I'll try and remember to do them next timw! **

StormFirestar - Thanks for the review! Hope you liked this chapter!

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**Sorry again that this Chapter took so long, it's massive!**

**Please Review! Tell me what you think!**


	8. I'm Going Through Changes

**Chapter Seven – I'm Going Through Changes**

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Harry Potter. If I did I would not be sitting here in front of a half-dead computer, trying to poke my brain into thinking.

Read and Review!

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_**In this story, words written like this are in parseltongue!**_

**I made a mistake in my previous chapter. Swetha is supposed to be 30, instead of 20, though this is very young for a Naga.**

This story has had over 1000 hits! Thank you!

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_Love is a perilous game.

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_

Harry woke up, and regretted it. His head was pounding with tiredness and what appeared to be a ghost at the end of his bed was talking in the bright, cheerful, loud way that all sleepy people quickly learn to despise. This particularly annoying apparition was red-haired, freckled and holding a large, polished broomstick in its hands.

Broomstick?

Harry leapt out of bed like a jack-in-the-box, diving straight for his Firebolt in the phantom's hands, who he now saw was Ron, fully-dressed and washed. Ron yelped at Harry's sudden reaction to seeing the broom, and threw his hands up to protect his face, with the result that he hurled the Firebolt up into the air. Harry, still airborne, stretched out, and seized the broom handle, and then realized suddenly, he had run out of bed, and was quickly running out of air. He crashed, face-first into the floor. The door opened and Mrs Weasley came in, wearing a red chequered apron, and stopped short at the sight of Harry crumpled on the floor holding his polished broomstick above his black, tousled head, and Ron cowering at the foot of the bed. She sighed, and put her hands on her hips.

"Stop messing around you two." She chided. "Breakfast's ready, and there'll be none left for you if you don't hurry up. We're going to Diagon Alley today, and we're going in a big group, of course."

With that, she turned and left. Harry sat up, gingerly rubbing his nose, and leaned back to take his glasses from his bedside table. He slid them on, and turned to the broomstick in his grasp. Ron straightened himself up from where he had been crouched on the floor, brushed himself down, and then turned to see Harry staring in awe at the broomstick.

"Came this morning." Ron said promptly, as thought the last 60 seconds had not happened. "And it came with note of snivelling apology from Fudge. Which Bill threw into the fire." He scowled at the thought of the Minister of Magic, then shook his head, and walked over to the bedroom door, turning to face Harry in the open doorway.

"C'mon, I bet mum was being serious about not getting any breakfast." He said, striding into the corridor. Harry heard him thudding noisily away down the rickety stairs. Harry stood up and walked to the cupboard where he reverently laid his Firebolt. He sat looking at it for a while, then stood up and pulled a bottle green t-shirt out of the dusty drawers and yanked it over his head. He cleaned his finger-marked glasses on his t-shirt, half-heartedly attempted to flatten his hair, and walked out of his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He met Ginny on the landing, and swallowed hard when he saw her. She was wearing a white blouse, left open enough to show some cleavage, and it was small enough to reveal a slim stomach underneath. Her red locks bounced on her pale shoulders, as she calmly walked towards him. Below her navel she wore an almost indecently short skirt of blue denim which sported long, thin pockets, and which showed off her long, smooth legs. She walked on red high heels, in a graceful, achingly feminine way. She was truly on the verge of womanhood.

"Hi Harry," Ginny said, her eyes flashing, giving him a mischievous smile which showed her white teeth(which made him feel like he was facing a tiger), as she passed him, and Harry was left staring at the wall, feeling a hardness grow beneath his trousers. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore that he saw Ginny's hips sway, tantalizingly, back and forth, as she sashayed down the stairs, out of sight.

_**Hmm…**_

Harry whipped around to see Swetha standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor of the house, illuminated by the light from a dusty cracked window set high in the wall. She had an amused smile on her face, and her arms were crossed, in a satisfied way. Harry blushed, then scowled, and, as a long awkward silence trailed across the corridor, cleared his throat.

"Err…are you coming down for breakfast?"

Swetha smiled warmly at him, her silver hair swaying and shimmering in the sunlight. **_Breakfast would be nice. But…_**

Harry cocked his head on one side quizzically. "But…?"

**_I feel…_** Swetha faltered, uncrossing her arms and flicking the end of her scaly tail against the wall in agitation. **_I feel as though I don't belong here. I mean, our races loathe each other. I was nearly killed by wizards travelling to here, this house._**

"Swetha, don't worry." Harry grabbed her clawed hand, careful not to scratch himself, and led her across the corridor, and down the grimy stairs. "Dumbledore is protecting you. Besides, why did you want to come here anyway?" Now that Sirius wasn't here, Harry couldn't think of a place he'd less like to be. Except perhaps the Dursley's.

He turned his face to see her bite her bottom lip with a sharp, white tooth. Swetha slithered down the stairs next to Harry, and slipped her hand from his grasp gently.

**_I was…looking for something_**. She said evasively, slithering past the hidden and silent portrait of Mrs Black, and down the stairs to the basement kitchen. Harry followed her, and when they entered the kitchen, it was to find Ron and Ginny alone in the kitchen, having a blazing row. Ginny was red in the face, and Ron's ears were scarlet.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIAGON ALLEY IN THAT!" Ron bellowed at Ginny, who put her hands on her hips and scowled back at him, her red locks spread out around her face. Ron was jabbing his finger at her clothes, and Ginny slapped his hand away, her freckles becoming lost in her face, which was turning scarlet with rage.

"AND SINCE WHEN ARE YOU THE BOSS OF ME, RONALD WEASLEY!" She yelled back, her hands resting on her smooth, curved hips, covered by the short skirt.

"DO YOU THINK I WANT PEOPLE SAYING MY SISTER'S A SLU-" Ron roared, and Ginny's hand suddenly flashed in front of his face, leaving a red, stinging handprint on his cheek, and then her wand pressed into his windpipe, Ginny's hand fastened tightly around it, the knuckles blazing white.

"What did you say?" Ginny whispered in a deadly voice, glowering at Ron, who spluttered incoherently, his ears burning crimson. Harry and Swetha froze, Harry ready to see a powerful Bat Bogey Hex hit Ron in the face. Therefore, it was fortunate that Mrs Weasley chose that moment to appear at the kitchen door in a lime green dress and her chequered apron.

"Ginny! Stop that! And what do you think you're wearing?" She shouted, moving past Harry and Swetha (who were still standing motionless by the door) to glare at her red-haired daughter (who still had her wand at Ron's throat).

Ginny sighed angrily, put her wand back in her pocket, marched to the table and sat down, and crossed her arms over her bosom, without responding to her mother's question. Mrs Weasley strode across the kitchen and waved her wand so that a blackened pot full of thick, hot, creamy porridge, which had been sitting on a work surface, floated to the table. Ron sat down at the table and looked angrily across the table at his sister, who ignored him. Harry crossed the room and clambered onto the seat. Swetha followed, and slid onto the wooden bench next to Harry, and gratefully accepted a steaming bowl of porridge from Mrs Weasley, and began to eat gracefully but eagerly.

"You'll have to change if you want to go Diagon Alley, Ginny." Mrs Weasley said calmly, passing porridge out to Harry and Ron. Ron grinned smugly at Ginny, who tossed her hair back and retorted,

"I'm not changing, and I am going to Diagon Alley."

There was utter silence. Everyone was stunned. Even Swetha sat still, forgetting her breakfast for a moment. Nobody, ever, in human memory, had disagreed with Mrs Weasley when she had made her mind up, and been so utterly unperturbed by the anger in Mrs Weasley's face as Ginny was now. Mrs Weasley, turning slowly pink, put her hands gradually on her hips, trying to look as menacing as possible and said very, very slowly,

"What did you say, young lady?"

"I said I'm going, and I'm wearing these clothes." Ginny said briskly, standing up, and spooning porridge into a bowl for herself. "I'm sick of you treating me like a child so I'm taking responsibility for myself. Hermione helped me pick out these clothes, and she said I looked great. Anyway," Ginny added, picking up a spoon and dunking into the bowl, "Swetha's practically _naked_ and you don't make a fuss about her."

Mrs Weasley spluttered in protest, but Ginny stood up and walked jauntily out of the kitchen, carrying her porridge and spoon with her. They heard her walking up the stairs, open the door at the top, and say brightly, "Hi Hermione!"

Hermione stepped into the kitchen, smiling happily. Then she caught sight of Mrs Weasley's stony face and the red handprint still blazing on Ron's face and her cheery smile faltered.

"Come and have some breakfast dear."

Mrs Weasley's voice was hard and cold as marble, and as Hermione sat down on the bench next to Ron, Mrs Weasley handed her a round bowl with significantly less porridge in it compared to the rest of the people sat around the table. Hermione sighed, and picked up her spoon. Everyone was silent, Hermione eating quietly, Harry and Swetha exchanging looks, and Ron wolfing down his breakfast, the redness in his ears and cheeks slowly receding. Then Mr Weasley came down the stairs to the kitchen. Harry turned and saw he was clutching a newspaper in his hands. He was beaming, and he strode towards Harry. Everyone turned to him, curious. Mr Weasley reached the table, and flung the newspaper down, and Harry looked down at the bold heading flashing at the top of the _Daily Prophet_'s front page.

**BLACK'S NAME CLEARED!**

_The man once known for the mass murder of 13 people, Sirius Black, has now been cleared of all charges, and an Order of Merlin, 1st Class was placed in the Ministry in his memory. The crowds of witches and wizards protesting at the Ministry this morning claimed that the Minister should have looked into Black's charges earlier, when Black was alive. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, is now under greater pressure to resign. Sirius Black died on Thursday 28th June, fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, though facts are still unknown about (continues page 5)._

Next to the article was the photo of Sirius at his parents wedding, beaming and waving up at Swetha and Harry. Underneath this was an advert for private defence lessons and another for broomsticks and underneath this was a smaller heading.

**DOLORES UMBRIDGE GIVEN A LIFE SENTENCE IN AZKABAN!**

_Dolores Umbridge, former Undersecretary to the Minister, former Defence against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and former High Inquisitor, was given a life sentence in Azkaban by the Wizengamot late last night. Umbridge was charged with torture by the Cruciatus curse and using a Blood Quill, a forbidden and dark object, and various appalling crimes. Umbridge also brought Education Degrees through that were not only a breach of Wizard Rights, but authorised the use of torture on students. Witnesses, mainly students, who shall go unnamed (continued page 12)._

Harry looked up from the paper. Mr Weasley looked down at him, and gave him a wide smile. Hermione and the Weasleys had crowded around to look at the paper, without him noticing. Hermione squeezed his shoulder, and Ron grinned. Mrs Weasley reached down and hugged him. Harry did not move for a moment, then he turned around and faced the rest of them, and they looked down at him, smiling. Harry smiled weakly.

"Well, it's about time." He said shakily. At once he was enveloped in a massive hug by Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley, Ron and Hermione. They hugged him, comforting and supporting. Harry felt glad that the wizarding community now knew that Sirius was - and always had been - innocent. He was sad though, that Sirius was not alive to see his freedom. His friends released him from their warm, reassuring embrace, and Harry saw Swetha still sitting at the table spooning her breakfast into her mouth, staring the _Daily Prophet_ intently. She slid her fingers under it, and then looked questioningly at Harry, as though the newspaper was something precious of his that needed his permission to be touched. Harry nodded to her, and Swetha picked up the paper and vanished behind it.

Mr Weasley nudged Mrs Weasley and jerked his head towards the door. Mrs Weasley looked puzzled, but followed her husband out of the kitchen door. Hermione sat down and began to eat the rest of her porridge. Ron, who had already wolfed down his breakfast, sat down next to Hermione and watched Swetha gaze at the _Daily Prophet_.

"Can you read that?" He asked as Harry began eating his breakfast. Swetha looked up from the front page, clutched in her clawed fingers.

**_Some of it. _**Swetha hissed, her jade slitted eyes glancing up at Ron from over the top of the newspaper.**_ It's been a long time since I read human words._**

Harry gulped down the hot porridge and hastily translated Swetha's response. Ron leant back on the wooden bench, and was silent. Hermione's spoon clinked against the china of her bowl. The pages of the _Prophet _rustled. Hot porridge left in the pot on the tabletop bubbled and burped thickly. Footsteps walked softly in the floors above. Then Mrs Weasley bustled noisily into the kitchen, wand in hand, looking extremely bad-tempered.

"Come on you lot." She snapped, flicking her wand violently through the air, so that their spoons, bowls and pot of porridge vanished. "We need to redecorate today, so go to the drawing room, and wait for me before starting."

Hermione and Ron slid hurriedly off the bench, and strode to the door, Harry following. Swetha trailed after them, uncertainly. They ascended the stairs to the first floor, and entered the drawing room. The room was completely bare. Thin, weak light filtered in through a tall window. The ceiling was high and white, large tins of paint were stacked against one wall. The walls were still olive green, and there was no furniture or carpet in the room, but an old cloth covered the bare floorboards. Harry noticed though, that the tapestry depicting Sirius' family tree was still firmly fixed against the opposite wall. Swetha slithered over to the tapestry, and looked at it in interest.

**_This thing still sticking here? _**She hissed, jabbing her thumb at the wall-hanging. Harry nodded.

"Was it here when you came?" Harry asked, and then added as an afterthought, "Do you know how to remove it?"

_**Sure. I stuck it here. **_

"You did?" Harry said excitedly, ignoring Ron and Hermione's confused looks, as they couldn't understand Swetha. "How did you stick it there?"

**_Snakes, indeed all creatures, have their own unique brand of magic. Even non-magical humans. Magic isn't always sparks and bubbling concoctions. Magic can be the ability to soothe a fierce soul._** Swetha said solemnly. **_Snakes have burrowed deep into the foundations of the earth. They have swum in the rivers and oceans. They have crossed deserts and climbed mountains. Snakes have great perseverance and wisdom. We, of the naga kind, have become learned in the way of the snake._**

She reached up to the edges of the tapestry, and tightened her claws around it. Then she tugged, and the tapestry fell easily from the wall, and lay crumpled on the wooden floor. Harry, Ron and Hermione simply gaped, because they had all tried to pull down that tapestry, and they had seen even Dumbledore fail at casting a spell that could remove it. Mrs Weasley entered at that moment with Ginny, and stared at the embroidery lying on the covered floorboards.

"How…?" She asked weakly.

"Swetha." Harry answered her unfinished question. "She originally put the tapestry there, so she could remove it."

Harry glanced at Ginny, and saw that she was wearing the same clothes as before, but her blouse was completely buttoned up. Harry suppressed the urge to groan in disappointment. Mrs Weasley stepped into the room, holding several stained robes.

"You are going to be decorating this room for me." She said, as she crossed the room towards Harry, Hermione, Ron and Swetha. "Wear these robes, so you don't get paint on your regular clothes."

She held out the robes to them, and they each grabbed a set of robes. Harry tugged on a red pair of robes that had coffee stains all over them. Hermione was pulling on coal-black pair that when rubbed, revealed that black was not the robes original colour. Ron was picking at a slimy yellow substance clinging to the blue robes he had dressed himself in, and Ginny was making a face at the purple robes she had seized, which seemed to slashed and wrinkled everywhere, and blotches of ink and blood stained the collar and cuffs.

"Gee, thanks mum." She snarled sarcastically. "These are just brilliant."

"Get on with it!" Mrs Weasley snapped back, seized the tapestry of Sirius' family tree from the floor and marched out of the room. The four teenagers sighed, and turned to the paint pots, seizing them and dragging them over to a wall. Harry revolved around to get the brushes, and spotted Swetha still standing by where the crumpled tapestry had lain. She was still clutching a pair of robes, this pair dyed a pure white, but burnt at the edges. She was staring at them in curiosity. Harry went over to her.

"What's the matter?"

Swetha looked up, startled. Her sharpened fingers slipped, and the robes fell in a heap to the floor. Harry scooped up the robes and held them out to her. Swetha slipped her slender arms into the robes, and unfastened them at the front with an attached belt.

**_It's… _**Swetha murmured, fiddling with the silver clasp, **_It's just…so long since I've worn robes. In India, we only wore robes for special occasions, like when we went to the temple. And Idris never minded if I didn't wear robes._**

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Swetha slithered past him, and he hurried over to the opposite wall, and collected the brushes for the paint. He returned to Ron and Hermione, where they were struggling to open the paint tins.

_**Here.**_

Swetha bent down, and slid a sharp claw under the rim of the lid. With a POP! the lid jumped off the top. Ron grabbed a large brush, dunked it in the apricot-coloured paint, and began sloshing it over the olive-green wall. Hermione, Ginny and Harry snatched up paintbrushes and joined in. Swetha had watched them in confusion as they seized the brushes, and was even more surprised when they began spreading the paint over the walls. Harry was painting the second wall of the room when he realised Swetha wasn't moving from her spot. He turned around to face her.

"What's the matter?" He asked. "Don't you know how to paint?"

**_Well, we paint back home._** Swetha said, picking up a brush, and looking at it. **_But we never use these things. Or paint all of the walls._**

"It's easy." Harry said, and put down his paintbrush. He reached over and put his hand on Swetha's, which held the paint brush. Swetha looked at him in surprise. Harry guided her hand to the paint pot, dipping the brush in the apricot-coloured liquid and spreading it slowly over the wall. He kept moving her hand slowly in a smooth brushstroke motion, then let go. Swetha kept painting slowly, and when she saw what she could do with the brush, she started to paint the wall with an almost indecent enthusiasm, rising on her tail to splatter the paint everywhere she could reach. Harry and the others laughed. Harry picked up his paintbrush, and began working again. The group progressed slowly across the room, painting the walls, Ron dragging the stepladder in their wake to reach the tops of the walls. Finally, there was only one wall left to paint. Harry, Ginny and Swetha set to work, Ron and Hermione pulling the paint pot behind them. As Swetha spread the apricot paint over the olive wall, some of it flicked onto Harry's face.

"Hey!"

**_Oops! Sorry. _**Swetha laughed in a hissing voice. Harry frowned, then grinned wickedly. He pulled the bristles of the paintbrush back, and let go. Droplets of paint splattered Swetha's face, and she gasped, then laughed. She waved the brush, and paint flew onto Harry face, and hit Ron's neck. Ron turned around and charged at Swetha and Harry. They ducked out of the way and Ron's paintbrush collided with Hermione's cheek. Hermione inhaled deeply and threw her paintbrush at him…which would have hit him but Harry tripped him up, and the paintbrush hit Ginny, who was standing alone by the door, collecting a new paint pot. Ginny picked it up, pulled the lid off, threw it away and turned around. There was an evil gleam in her eyes, as she held the pot full of thick, gloopy liquid, facing the four people engaged in a paint fight by the wall. All four people knew what was coming, and all four dreaded it.

"Oh no…" Harry, Ron and Hermione moaned, Swetha hissing mournfully along with them.

"Oh yes." Ginny said, and threw the entire pot of paint over them and the wall. They yelled and put their hands over their faces. Paint splattered over them, and dripped down the walls. They uncovered their eyes and stood there, gasping. Ginny was rolling on the ground, laughing and smacking the floor with her fist. The four apricot coloured people glowered at her, then seized paintbrushes and charged at her, and at each other.

There then ensued the greatest paint fight ever seen by man since Arhold Arcrylious the Artistic (but frightfully mad) decided it would be a good idea to tie paint brushes to Pixies and Doxies and have them fly around his work place, where there would be blank canvases. The idea was that the creatures would create fine works of art on the plain surfaces. Though the creatures did** not** create works of art, Arhold was awarded the Gold Medal for Best Piece of Art on Artist.

The fight continued with enthusiasm for at least half an hour, drawing to an abrupt halt when Mrs Weasley opened the drawing room door.

* * *

Much, much later… 

Harry emerged from the bathroom, still towelling dry his hair. Hermione was waiting outside, plastered in apricot paint, and dashed inside, slamming the door behind her. Harry turned to Swetha, who was sitting on the stairs, scratching remnants of dye off her bronze scales, and Ron, who was leaning on the dusty walls, scowling, his balled fists jabbing at unseen enemies.

"She didn't have to get so mad!" He burst out, furiously, his fists jerking about in the air, knocking the wind out of an invisible opponent. "We were just, y'know, having fun!"

Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. Mrs Weasley certainly had been furious with them, especially since Ginny hadn't noticed her and flung a paintbrush at Ron, which missed, slapping Mrs Weasley's thigh and staining her lime dress with paint. She had yelled herself hoarse and then demanded that they get showers. Swetha had been rather intimidated by the large woman's anger and protested vehemently in parseltongue, but Mrs Weasley shouted more, so they quickly trooped upstairs to wash. Mrs Weasley had snatched up their now apricot robes, and had been furious when she saw that the paint had seeped through and stained their clothes. Now, a pile of filthy washing lay in wait for Mrs Weasley by the stairs. Now Harry wore clean clothes he had pulled from his wardrobe.

"And," continued Ron, still pummelling his worthless, yet unseen rival, "It's not like we didn't paint the whole room!"

Harry personally agreed. They had painted everywhere. All the walls…and ceiling…and the floor were covered in apricot paint.

"I'm so sick of her!" Ginny snapped as she stepped out of her bedroom, the door banging shut after her as she walked into the corridor, violently running a brush through her hair, to rid it of the apricot-coloured dandruff that seemed to inhabit it. A white hair band hung around her wrist. Ginny was now wearing a pink tank top with tightly fitting jeans, her red hair swinging around her shoulders. She was also clutching a large, yellow t-shirt in her other hand.

"Here, Swetha." She said, throwing the t-shirt at the Nagini, who caught it. "If you're going to fit in here, you'd better start following our cultural rules. Rule number One: No bare chests!"

Swetha held up the t-shirt, and tentatively slid her arms into the fabric and pulled the top over her silver head, and tugged it down over her pale stomach. She ran her pale hands over the soft material, entranced by it. Ginny turned to Harry and Ron, still fuming about her mother.

"Yeah, I'm sick of her!" Ginny growled, flinging the brush down on the floor, and tying her hair tightly back in a ponytail using the hair band, though a few bangs hung loose around her face. "Who does she think she is?"

"Your mother, that's who!" Mrs Weasley frustrated and angry voice pierced their eardrums, as she appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching the dirty pile of washing, and looking hot and bothered. "And unless you want to go to Diagon Alley later, you'd better stop whining and start acting more mature, young lady!"

"What about Swetha? Will she be able to go to Diagon Alley?" Ginny demanded as Hermione emerged from the bathroom. Mrs Weasley snorted in irritation.

"Don't be stupid!" Mrs Weasley snarled. "People will think she's a monster; of course she can't go! We don't even know what side she's on!"

* * *

Lunch was a stonily silent ordeal. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Swetha sat and ate their ham sandwiches quietly. Mrs Weasley did not speak or look at any one of them. Even Mr Weasley and Remus, who came into the kitchen halfway through lunch, were rather quiet. They seemed to take interest in the fact that Swetha was wearing clothes; they kept looking at her, then at each other. 

Afterwards the teenagers and Swetha went upstairs and sat in Harry and Ron's room. As soon as Swetha entered the boy's room, Hedwig and Pig, Ron's owl, started screeching and beating their wings against the bars of their cage. Harry and Ron let them out of their cages, and the birds flew out of the room. Swetha sighed, and shook her head.

The group talked for a while, mainly about the injustice of Mrs Weasley's anger, and Fred and George's new joke shop in London, and how unfair it was Swetha couldn't go, when Harry remembered Swetha requesting Harry to do something last night. He cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him.

"Guys," He began, "Oh, all right gals and guy," he sighed when he saw Ginny's pointed glare, "We have an important mission. A hard one too. We need to teach Swetha English." He said matter-of-factly, and Swetha looked up from the floor where she was sitting, her bronze tail coiled on the musty carpet, and nodded. Harry continued, "I think we should all help her learn."

Everyone agreed, and so they all set about teaching her. They started with simple objects, pronouncing the words clearing, but Swetha kept repeating the word in parseltongue. No matter how hard she tried, she hissed and spat the word out, instead of speaking it in English.

"Let's try again," Hermione said wearily after half an hour of hissing frustration. Ron was lying on the beds, Harry was leaning against his bedpost, while sitting on the floor and Swetha was rubbing her eyes still sat on the floor in the same place that she was half an hour ago. Ginny had left to get everyone drinks. Hermione sat opposite her, and was pointing to the bedside table.

"Come on, table. Ta…ble. Say it."

**_Tabl…Argh!_** Swetha hissed in aggravation, shaking her head. Ron, Hermione and Harry sighed. Ron started bouncing on his bedspread in boredom. Ginny returned, shutting the door quietly behind her. She handed everyone a drink of pumpkin juice and stood sipping hers, watching Swetha. Harry began absentmindedly rocking backwards and forwards. As he gulped down his pumpkin juice, he had an idea.

"Swetha, try imagining the word in your mind." He suggested. "Picture it, and then concentrate on saying it."

Swetha screwed up her face, concentrating hard, her mouth moving furiously, fangs bared, her serpent tongue flicking and then she choked, spluttered and coughed, and whispered;

"Tay……bull?"

Ron fell off his bed, crashing to the floor; Ginny choked on her drink; Harry slipped and banged his head against the bedpost, and Hermione gasped. They all jumped up, and rushed over to Swetha (who looked startled at the attention) and grouped around her.

"Say it again!" Ginny urged her eagerly. "You did it right! Do it again!"

"Table. Ta…ble" Swetha said again, clearer and without a hint of hissing. She grew excited. "Table. Table. Table!"

She looked delighted, and turned to Harry, beaming. **_Teach me more words! _**She said in fast parseltongue.

"You mean, teach me more words." Harry corrected her, and laughed at the look of horror of Swetha's face that had appeared at the sound of so many English words. Swetha screwed up her face again, concentrating hard.

"Tea…each…mee…mour…wordsss." Swetha repeated, gradually and carefully, the last letter fading into a drawling hiss. The other grinned and Swetha smiled, her fangs exposed. They spent another hour teaching Swetha phrases and names, because they were excited by her progress, and she was keen to learn. When Mrs Weasley hollered up the stairs that they needed to get ready to go to Diagon Alley, Swetha had learnt the names of every piece of furniture in the room, and could say, 'Harry', 'Ron', 'Ginny', 'Hermione', 'Swetha', 'Professor Dumbledore', 'Mrs Weasley', 'London' and 'Naga'. She could imitate most words and phrases, but still occasionally erupted in bouts of hissing.

The girls left to get ready for Diagon Alley, leaving the bedroom door open. Harry dug around in his truck, until he unearthed a money bag, which was almost empty. He would have to visit Gringotts today. Ron left the room, saying he needed to get a brush from the bathroom, though Harry wasn't really listening. He turned around to see Swetha watching him. She reached over and slipped a long, pale hand into the bag in Harry's grasp, and drew out a round galleon.

"What……is……this?" She asked Harry slowly, examining the Galleon, holding it up to the weak light coming from the open doorway.

"Money." Harry answered, giving her the bag, and grabbing his trainers out of the wardrobe. Swetha put the Galleon back in the bag, and fished out a small bronze Knut.

"Is…this…money?" Swetha enquired, holding it up. Harry nodded, tying his shoelaces, Ron clattering into the room, his red hair standing on end from being brushed so much. He handed it to Harry, who tried to make his hair lie flat, without success. Mrs Weasley yelled up the stairs again, so Ron and Harry leapt up, and ran downstairs to the hall, where Ron's mother was waiting impatiently.

"Into the kitchen!" she barked, as soon as they had descended the stairs. "We're travelling by floo powder!"

Harry groaned as he walked down the stairs to the kitchen. The fire was roaring in the grate at the end of the room, and Ginny, Hermione, Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin were waiting for them there. Mrs Weasley marched behind them, and seized a pot from the mantelpiece when they reached the fire. Swetha had followed them, and stood by the table nervously, watching as Mr Weasley dipped his hand into the pot, and withdrew a pinch of sparkling floo powder, and threw it into the fire. The fire turned emerald green, and roared higher into the chimney, the green sparks crackling on the stone hearth. Mr Weasley stepped into the flames – Swetha gasped in shock – shouting "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

Ginny stepped forward. Without glancing at her mother, she seized a fistful of powder and threw it into the flames, leapt into the fireplace, and said, "Diagon Alley!", and rocketed out of sight. She was followed by Ron, Lupin came after, Hermione was next, and then Mrs Weasley, who stormed into the fire, and shot away. Only Harry was left. As he picked up the floo powder, and turned to Swetha, and said awkwardly, "Erm…see you later, then."

He threw the powder into the fire, and stepped into the flickering inferno, and yelled "Diagon Alley!". The last thing he saw of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was Swetha, sitting at the wooden table, staring back at him, the fire casting a green glow over her, making her jade eyes light up, eerily. He thought he saw her pale lips slowly form the words "See you." But then she was whipped out of his sight, and he was spinning, spinning, spinning towards the heart of London.

* * *

Review please! This has taken me ages, so please tell me what you think of it!


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